GLENFINISHK. GLENFINISHK! where thy waters mix with Araglen's wild tide, "Tis sweet at hush of evening to wander by thy side! "Tis sweet to hear the night-winds sigh along Macrona's wood, And mingle their wild music with the murmur of thy flood! "Tis sweet, when in the deep-blue vault the morn is shining bright, To watch where thy clear waters are breaking into light; To mark the starry sparks that o'er thy smoother surface gleam, As if some fairy hand were flinging diamonds on thy stream! Oh! if departed spirits e'er this dark world return, At such an hour, in such a scene, I could forget my birth- Ye shadowy race! if we believe the tales of legends old, TERRY O'ROON AND HIS WONDERFUL TUNE. OCH! there ne'er was a piper lie Terry O'Roon, A Fairy once brought to his grandfather's cot The very same pipes that Terry has got; And sure," said his father, who took up the trade, He charm'd every heart with his wonderful tune. "Tis said when he struck up his pipes by the shore, But he might have been dreaming, betwixt me and you; There was never a wake, nor a fight, nor a fair, It was all one to him whether black eyes or blue; Sure he won ev'ry heart with his wonderful tune! THE FAIRY WELL. And wild as any roe; Her cheek was like the summer rose, So beautiful and bright, 147 You'd almost think they'd light her through Glencarrigy by night. "Now, by my faith! young Connell says, "I like your motion well There's a power more than gospel In what crazy gossips tell.” Oh, my heavy hatred fell upon For his scorned love at last. The jokin' and the jibin' And the banterin' went on, One girl dared another, And they all dared Peggy Bawn. Till leaping up, away she flew Down to the hollow green Her bright locks, floating in the wind, Like golden lights were seen. The moon was up--the stars were out, And shining through the sky, FORTUNE IN THE FIRE. "SWEET Norah, come here, and look into the fire, "Just look 'twixt the bars where that black sod is smoking; "And now there's a coach with four galloping horses, As Dermot was speaking, the rain-drops came hissing When young and old stood mourning round Then Norah to Dermot this speech softly whispered- 66 "Twere better to Do than to idly desire; And one little cot by the roadside is better Than a palace with servants and coach-in the fire!" The grunter Pat cured, and soon put out of sight, the But the ghost of that pig haunted Pat day and night; So at last to his riv'rence he went and confessed, In the midst doth smile a little Isle, On its grassy side, in ruined pride, On its lofty crest the wild crane's nest, That chieftain of old could he now behold Having that on his mind that he couldn't digest. Och, Pat!" said the priest, "only think of the day When the widdy shall charge you with stealing away The pig that she looked to for paying her rint." "Och, murder! says Pat, "it's of that I repint, And so, if you plaze absolution to say, It's a blessed thirteen that I'm willing to pay, Or I'll marry the widdy to make her atone: Since 'twas her flesh I took, I'll be bone of her bone." "You know that can't be-you would cheat me, O'Linn, To compound with a felony's surely a sin; And as to repintance, sure what will you say, When the widdy accuses you at the last day? Says Pat, "Will your riv'rence answer me true, When that time it shall come will the pig be there too? " "He will," said the priest, all your guilt to make plain, Cheek by jowl with the pig you will stand once again.” "Then," says Pat, 'it's all right, absolution or not, For when that time comes I an answer have got, As the pig will be there, I have only to say, 'Take your dirty ould pig'-so your riv'rence good day." LOCH INA-Continued. "Tis sweet to gaze when the sun's bright rays Are cooling themselves in the trembling wave But 'tis sweeter far when the evening star Shines like a smile at Friendship's grave. There the hollow shells, through their wreathed cells, Make music on the silent shore, As the summer breeze, through the distant trees, Murmurs in fragrant breathings o'er. And the sea-weed shines, like the hidden mines Of the ancient Kings of Araby. If it were my lot in that fairy spot To live forever, and dream 'twere mine, RORY'S KISSING SCHOOL. 'BOUT a kiss, do ye ask? It's me that can tell; For ould as I am, I'm minding it well; When a spalpeen of three, with how much delight My mither kissed Rory and bade him good night. But my mither she died and left Rory behind; And the lasses I met brought her so to my mind That at kissing I went, first one and anither, Because they wore bonnets and looked like my mither. At last, would you think it, swate Bridget O'Flynn Had scarcely been kissed when she kissed me agin, And tould me a praest, away down in the city, Would say, if we'd ask him, a bit of a ditty. "A ditty, swate Bridget, and what might it be?" "Ne'er mind, my dear Rory, but just come wid me! NORAH darling, don't believe them, I must leave thee, Norah darling, When the stars are round me glist'ning, They must love thee, Norah darling, When their tales of love you hear, Never heed their treacherous whispers, Don't believe them, Norah dear. RORY'S KISSING SCHOOL.-Continued. "Troth! my Bridget," says I, "perhaps ye can mind When ye to the kissing were greatly inclined; And now, by the jabers, ye're pulling my hair. NANCY, THE PRIDE OF THE WEST. WE have dark lovely looks on the shores where the Spanish From their gay ships came gallantly forth, And the sweet shrinking violets sooner will vanish Than modest blue eyes from our north; With Nancy, the pride of the west. If you chanced on her musing alone, Or some goddess great Jove was offended above with, And chilled to a sculpture of stone; But you'd think her no colorless, classical statue, When she turned from her pensive repose, With her glowing gray eyes glancing timidly at you, And the blush of a beautiful rose. Have you heard Nancy sigh? then you've caught the sad echo From the wind-harp enchantingly borne. Have you heard the girl laugh? then you've heard the first cuckoo Chant summer's delightful return. fancy, The lark's liquid raptures on high, THE SONS OF HIBERNIA. BRAVE Sons of Hibernia, your shamrocks display, Both Venus and Mars to that land lay a claim But St. Patrick to friendship has hallow'd the ground, Then with shamrocks and myrtles let's garnish the bowl, Tho' jovial and festive in seeming excess, A SWEET IRISH GIRL IS THE DARLING FOR ME. And sing filliloo, fire away, frisky she'll be- She's smiling, beguiling to see, to see: She dances, and prances Och! a sweet Irish girl is the darling for me. Now some girls they are little, and some they are tall, Are just old Irish airs from the sweet lips of Still none can please me, or can coax me so well Nancy, Flowing up and refreshing the sky. And though her foot dances so soft from the heather To the dew-twinkling tussocks of grass, It but warms the bright drops to slip closer together To image the exquisite lass; We've no men left among us, so lost to emotion, Who'd resist her, if Nancy once took up the To set that soft foot on their necks. Yet, for all that the bee flies for honey-dew fragrant To the half-opened flower of her lips; And the butterfly pauses, the purple-eyed vagrant, To play with her pink finger-tips; From all human lovers she locks up the treas ure A thousand are starving to taste, And the fairies alone know the magical meas ure Of the ravishing round of her waist. As the dear Irish girl, so charming to see- THE FAIRY BOY.* A MOTHER came when stars were paling, "Why with spells my child caressing, Wherefore steal my fairy boy? "O'er the mountain, through a wild wood, "There I wander, growing fonder To restore my fairy boy. *When a beautiful child pines and dies, the Irish peasant believes the healthy infant has been stolen by the fairies, and a sickly elf left in its place. SONGS AND BALLADS OF IRELAND. SWEET KILKENNY TOWN. I WAS working in the fields near fair Boston city, "There's a letter waitin' for ye, in the postman's care!" Oh! my heart was in my mouth, all the while that he was spaking, For I knew it was from Katy!-she's the girl that can spell! And I couldn't speak for crying, for my heart had nigh been breaking, With longing for a word from the girl that I love well. Who could it be but Katey? Oh! I knew it was from Katey. The poor girl that loves me well, in sweet Kilkenny Town. Oh! 'twas soon I reached the place, and I thanked them for the trouble They wor taking with my letter, a-sorting with such care; And they asked was it a single?" and I tould them 'twas a double! For wasn't it worth twice as much as any letter there? Then they sorted and they searched, but something seemed the matter, And my heart it stopped beating when I thought what it might be: Och! boys, would you believe it? they had gone and lost my letter, My poor Katey's letter that had come so far to me. Then they laughed in my face, and they asked me (tho' in kindness), What good would letters do me that I couldn't understand. And I answered, blindness, Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring; Sprightly and lightly and airily ringing, Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing. "What's that noise that I hear at the window, I wonder?" 66 "Tis the little birds chirping the holly-bush under." "What makes you be shoving and moving your stool on, And singing all wrong the old song of the Coolun?" There's a form at the casement-the form of her true love And he whispers, with face bent, "I'm waitfor you, love. Get up on the stool, through the lattice step lightly; We'll rove in the grove while the moon's shining brightly." Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring; Sprightly and lightly and airly ringing, Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing. "Were they cursed with deafness and with The maid shakes her hand, on her lips lays Would they care less for the clasp of a dear loved hand?" Oh! the folks that read and write (though they're so mighty clever), See nothin' but the words, and they're soon read through; But Katy's unread letter would be speaking to me ever Of the dear love that she bears me, for it shows she is true! Oh! well I know my Katey, my own darling Katey, The poor girl that loves me well, in sweet Kilkenny Town. TERRY MALONE. ONE ev'ning from market returning, May be some of ye guess, ah! now don't ye? So I'll even confess, without blushing, her fingers, Steals up from the seat-longs to go, and yet lingers; A frightened glance turns to her drowsy grand mother, Puts one foot on the stool, spins the wheel with the other. Lazily, easily, swings now the wheel round, Slowly and lowly is heard now the reel's round; Noiseless and light to the lattice above her The maid steps, then leaps to the arms of her lover. Slower-and slower-and slower the wheel swings; Lower-and lower-and lower the reel rings; Ere the wheel and the reel stopped their ringing and moving, Through the grove the young lovers by moonlight are roving. |